


Oblivion

by ColorfulStabwound



Series: The Death of Draco Malfoy [6]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Explicit Sexual Content, First Time, Loss of Virginity, Love, M/M, Making up for lost time, Morocco - Freeform, POV Second Person, Sex, The Death Of Draco Malfoy, oblivion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-20
Updated: 2014-09-20
Packaged: 2018-02-18 01:57:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,480
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2331005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ColorfulStabwound/pseuds/ColorfulStabwound
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You have spent so much of you life doing things that other people wanted you to do and as you lie there, snogging like you weren’t a living breathing human in need of oxygen, you are overwhelmed with the knowledge that there would never be a moment when this wasn’t something that you wanted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Oblivion

**Author's Note:**

> There was never really any question who Draco belonged to, right?
> 
> For Theodore, you know who you are.

It’s been five days since you found your way into that café in Morocco and back into his life.

 

Five days of long overdue conversations and unanswered questions.

 

Five days to shred your former self like a skin and wash yourself clean in crystal blue water and warm embraces.

 

Five days for you both to fall apart and piece one another back together again in new and interesting ways.

 

It’s been five days, but it only took you five seconds in his embrace to admit to yourself that you could never belong to anyone else.

 

“If I could go back and change things,” He’s lying next to you with an arm draped almost protectively over your middle and when he starts down that path you shake your head and press a finger to his mouth.

 

“Don’t.” You interrupt him gently because you know what guilt sounds like and _feels_ like, and it splinters your insides to think he would harbor any for things that were beyond his control.

 

“The past is just a story.” You add with a smile and then your finger traces over his bottom lip and across the line of his jaw and when he sighs softly, your insides untwist just a little bit.

 

“Alright we’ll leave the past for now, but what about the present?” His tone has switched from morose to mischievous and it takes him only a moment to roll over and straddle you.

 

“I rather like the present.” You say and a smirk twitches the corners of your mouth as your fingertips slide over his bent thighs at your sides.

 

“Me too.” He breathes as he leans down over you, his lips pressed against your skin and even though the night is cool, you feel like you are burning up.

 

It doesn’t take very long before his fingers are slipping beneath the hem of the shirt you are wearing and the sensation has you in-taking air like a soft hiss.  He smiles against your throat before catching a small patch of flesh between his teeth and scoring it gently. Your heart is pounding against your chest like a caged animal and your fingers curl and uncurl around his ankles. He shifts in your lap and despite your best efforts you are arching against him; anything for just a little bit more friction.

 

“Did I find something you like?” His voice is like spun silk and even though you are quickly losing your capacity to think, you can’t help but think you’d like to always hear him just like that.

 

You hum something that sounds like “Mhm” and he laughs throatily and he sits up enough to peer down at you. He is ethereal; entirely too perfect for you and this world and there are so many things you want to say to him but you just say  “Perfect” and hope he understands.

 

“I bet you say that to all the boys in your bed.” He grins down at you and the soft laugh that escapes him sounds like heaven to your heightened senses.

 

When you say nothing he sits up a little straighter and peers down at you. “I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours.” He’s grinning when he speaks and you can’t help but appreciate how much he still resembles that little boy that you were so hatefully and secretly fond of, all those years ago.

 

“Well, go on then.” You reply airily and then you watch him carefully because you are pretty sure he thought you would not take the bait.

 

He swallows thickly and rubs the back of his head and your lips twitch and you wait.

 

You are hardly shocked or affronted by his list of conquests, you are neither daft nor naïve, but you are mildly amused by the mental tally he does while he’s straddling you on a bed, quietly muttering names as he ticks them off one by one on his fingers. By the time he finishes he’s flushed and looking more than a little sheepish, which amuses you even more.

 

“Impressive.” You say and then you laugh when he bites on his bottom lip and quirks a dubious brow at you because he can’t believe that _you_ of all people are so calm about this.

 

“Now you.” He says and he taps a finger on your chest and grins down at you.  


“No.”  You reply and your head shakes softly and you purposely smirk at him like you’ve got secrets that you’re hiding yet.

 

“No way, Draco. We had a deal.” His grin has disappeared and you are amused still, because you just cannot help yourself.

 

“Oh, you don’t want to hear about it, I’m sure.” Your brow arches almost lazily and you reach for his hand and fold your fingers together.

 

“Well, no, but it’s only fair.” His gaze drops to your intertwined fingers as he speaks and you feel a hint of guilt because he genuinely looks upset and that was never your intention.

 

“Alright, alright.” You relent and when his head snaps back up and he looks entirely too pleased with himself, you know that you’ve just been played in true Slytherin fashion.

 

“The truth is, there is no list.” You watch him openly as you speak and you don’t miss the way his brows come together in confusion as he attempts to assimilate what you’ve just said into what he likes to think he knows about you.

 

“My adolescent years weren’t exactly free for sexual exploration.” Your thumb strokes over the back of his hand idly as you watch him and you smile because this is one part of your life that you are not ashamed of.

 

“But I thought you and Pansy…” Your visible cringe pulls a smile from him and then you shake your head slowly, exhaling deeply before responding.

 

“Pansy will be the first to tell you that a hand job on the Hogwart’s express doesn’t count.” Your lips twitch with a smirk because you can practically _hear_ these exact words falling out of Pansy’s mouth in your head.

 

“And that’s it? You’re joking, Draco.” He looks pale and mildly mortified and of course you laugh because it is so painfully _him_ that it makes you feel like no time has passed between you at all.

 

“Is my inexperience intimidating you?” You drawl, and then you arch a smug brow up at him that instantly wipes any and all traces of modesty off his face.

 

“So, what you’re saying is, that essentially, you are…mine.” It’s not a question he asks you and you do not miss the shift in his tone as he leans down over you, lips hovering just out of reach.

 

“Before I even knew it and long before I could accept it.” You say without hesitation, and the quiet strangled sound that leaves him punctures your heart like nothing you’ve ever felt before in your life.

 

When he kisses you it’s different and you can tell by the way his hand rests against your chest, over your heart, that he’s just shed what little reservations he had left about you.

 

You have spent so much of you life doing things that other people wanted you to do and as you lie there, snogging like you weren’t a living breathing human in need of oxygen, you are overwhelmed with the knowledge that there would never be a moment when this _wasn’t_ something that you wanted.

 

He’s taking his time with you, each touch is reverent and lingering, like he’s savoring a favorite piece of candy. It doesn’t take long before your pulse is racing again and when he tugs your shirt over your head and tosses it off the bed you can only sigh as the cool air envelops your heated flesh. His mouth is all over you, slowly mapping your body and committing the soft sounds each new territory elicits from you to his memory. He is drunk on the power he now wields and also a little nervous, because he wants to make you feel so good that you will never question whom you belong to. 

 

What he doesn’t realize is that you already _know_ whom you belong to and you will always know, even years down the road and with countless miles in between you.

 

His lips press against the criss-cross of thin silver scars on your chest and arms like he’s paying worship, and you don’t need to hear the words to know what he’s thinking. Sixteen was the beginning of the end for you and the scars you wear on the outside of your body are all glaring reminders of that time that would be better forgotten. He knows exactly where each one of these scars came from and it kills him because the quiet fury he felt when he was sixteen is back. He wants to be indignant for you; angry that someone could mar your perfect form like this, and for what? Your words ring in his head and he does his best to let the anger filter away and the white-knuckled grip he has on your forearms loosens instantly. 

 

This isn’t about anger or ghosts of the past, this is about him and you and the undeniable bond between you that can never be severed.

 

When his fingertips trace over the black stain on your skin you can’t help but watch him and you don’t miss the veritable flash of anguish in his features. You want to soothe him with words but you let him continue his exploration instead. He needs to see and touch and experience every part of you for himself, even the ugly parts.

 

 

By the time he is tugging your trousers off you are floating in the interim. You have nothing to hide from him, not any more, and the way he accepts you without reservation would bring you to your knees if you were standing.

 

Theodore has waited so long for this moment. He’s dreamt about it and cried about it and even tried to forget about it but it always comes back to him; like a ball on a string. Having you in his bed here, and now, was almost too much for him to take. He was in a constant state of need and despair; his head and his heart warring for dominance and every part of him so desperately in love with this man—this unforgettable boy from his past that he just couldn’t get over.   When he aligns himself over you his chest hitches visibly because never in his most vivid nightmares did it ever feel this absolute. Every inch of you is connected to him, unfiltered and free of restrictions. He wants to make you his in every way that he can because somewhere inside he is still a petulant and needy child but he doesn’t know if he can because he never prepared himself for this on the outside.

 

When he kisses you your spine liquefies and your flesh melts into him. You are a compact vessel with too many emotions that you have never had to deal with and just when you think that you might explode, he is there with his kiss and his touch and beyond it all you know this is love.

 

“Please, Theodore.” You whisper raggedly when your mouths part and the way he looks at you—all kiss-swollen lips and blacked out eyes—you think you can die.

 

He manages a smile and he kisses you again, more insistent this time. When he moves it’s with more purpose and his mouth and tongue lead a trail of warm wetness down the center of your chest. A breathy sigh escapes past your parted lips because this doesn’t just _feel_ like the first time.  When the tip of his tongue swirls around your navel you smile faintly and then you forget it because his hand is sliding up your calf and over your thigh and it feels like hellfire. His fingers take you in hand with one gentle and fluid movement and your head arches back into the pillow beneath it. He’s watching you intently because he doesn’t want to miss a thing and his warm breath against you pulls a small shudder out of you.  Already you don’t know how much more you can take because you’ve never had to deal with this level of living before and as much as you want it, you are afraid to fall.

 

“Mine.” He whispers so quietly you are not sure you heard it. His hand twists slowly and he swirls the tip of his tongue around the head of your cock and then you don’t hear anything but the pulse pounding in your ears and the cracking of your own heart.

 

 

The way his mouth moves over your length is nothing short of mind-altering and you would very much praise every one of those names he ticked off earlier after this was all said and done. But for now, you were lost in sensation and lust and how bloody brilliant the warm, tight wetness of his mouth felt around you.  His lips slide over you with intent and you feel utterly devoured in every sense. Your fingers twist in the sheets and your body jerks beneath his command because you can’t help yourself. This is better than any drug or any amount of unfiltered bliss and it is all going to end a lot sooner than you would like. Heat is pooling in your abdomen and your fingers twist in his hair and you want to warn him that you’re close to losing it but you can’t and you think he understands anyways because his cheeks hollow out more sharply and his grip on your cock twists and tightens in perfect synchronicity. When you come it’s enough to spot out your vision and pull a colorful string of curses from between your swollen lips.  You’re still gasping when his mouth comes off of you and although you are nearly blind you know he’s not done with you and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

 

 

Theodore is fumbling for something, a bottle that you never even see because you are still riding an ecstasy high like you’ve never felt before. He knows he should take it slow with you and that he should probably stop at a blowjob, but he can’t help himself and you _did_ say please. He wants this part of you so badly that his fingers shake and he struggles to uncap the bottle in his hands. When he finally succeeds he’s impatient and messy and pays no mind to the slippery fluid that will ruin his sheets because they are rented anyways. As impatient as he is to take you and your virginity in every sense, there is still a faint shred of apprehension in the back of his mind because despite his overwhelming desire to desecrate every inch of you, his insides are bursting with long suppressed love for you and it hurts because he associates that love with fear and pain.

 

“You won’t break me.” You breathe a bit raggedly, pulling him from his thoughts and back to the present.

 

“I’m counting on it.” He cuts in with a wry smile and then he leans over you and kisses you and when the faint bitterness transfers from his mouth to yours, you are not as offended as you think you should be.

 

To say that you are unprepared for what happens next is a complete fucking understatement. No matter how many times you may have imagined your first sexual encounter, you could never have anticipated _this._ He’s talking in soothing tones that you only hear half of because your pulse is once again pounding in your ears and drowning out the world around you. You want this, gods you really, _really_ want this—That is what you tell yourself calmly when he parts your thighs. He tells you to ‘relax’ and smoothes a flat hand over your abdomen. When he breaches you, a sharp hiss escapes you and your eyes slide shut because you just need to concentrate on the intrusion and the sensation for a minute.

 

You are nothing if not a quick study and although he soon has you writhing on your back with just a couple of fingers, you are committing all of this to memory because you always give what you get; and then some.

 

There is a moment, perhaps two; when he stops just on the precipice and you exchange a look that speaks volumes of unspoken words. You don’t know it yet, but this connection you share with him will only get stronger over time and there will be a point in the distant future where he wont even have to speak at all for you to know what he’s thinking or feeling.  He leans down to kiss you and then he pushes slowly inside of you, gauging your tolerance level by the expressions painted across your face.

 

You feel like someone is splitting you down the middle from the inside and you gasp for air that you cannot reclaim. He stills within you and gives you a moment to just breathe and acclimate to the new intrusion. You watch him as expressions filter freely across his face. He looks torn between bliss and torture and you don’t know it but that is a completely accurate assessment.

 

Every inch of himself that he buries in you is heaven and hell in their purest and most dangerous forms. You are so tight that he can’t help but worry that he’s hurting you; although judging by the look on your face you are anything _but._ He marvels for a minute at how you manage to retain your grace even on your back giving up your virginity. He wants to laugh because he loves you so much it’s ridiculous but he can only whimper a half-strangled moan instead.

 

His movements are slow and tentative at first and you quickly get over the initial shock and you commit to seeing this through because Draco Malfoy is not a quitter.

 

When he lifts your leg over his shoulder you take to watching him, a faintly breathless smile tugging at the corners of you mouth. It twists your insides when you think of where you were five days ago; where he was five days ago. Despite every obstacle you still have managed to come back together and you know that it isn’t just the sex that makes you feel like you never want to get him out of your system.

 

“Oh, fuck—“ You gasp sharply and arch back after a particularly angled thrust and he merely smirks smugly down at you and does it again, just like that.

 

It takes mere moments for you to dissolve into a whimpering puddle of your former self and Theodore takes the opportunity to push you farther still because the smallest, ugliest part of him wants to see you break beneath him. His hand wraps around your painfully hard cock and strokes you in perfect time with his hips—Steady, long and even. This isn’t a race and he still wants to make you feel as good as he possibly can, but this was also about claiming you as his own; which is why he doesn’t go _too_ easy on you.

 

When he comes, your name is painted across his mouth and he buries himself so deep inside of you that you cry out in a strangled mixture of pleasure and pain and then you come too and your vision spots and you feel more complete than you have in your entire life.

 

When he drops down beside you he’s panting breathless to rival you and you have to laugh because never in a million years could you have imagined this. Your entire body feels unsteady and vaguely sore and you know that tomorrow you are not likely to get out of bed at all.   When he picks up his head to peer at you, you smile because you are ridiculously happy and more than anything at all you want that feeling to stay with you.

 

“What’s so funny?” He asks and then he nips at your ear without any real intent.

 

“Nothing.” You reply and then you heave a sated sigh and kiss him languorously.

 

When he drops off to sleep you linger in the stationary and even with his head resting against your chest and his arm flung back over you, it’s hard to assimilate this day into your waking life. Somehow you feel as if you are already asleep and you hope that when you wake again that it wasn’t merely a dream. You don’t think about tomorrow and you don’t think about next week, you are living for now.

 

And it’s all that you need.


End file.
